Afro-Latino Roots Shape the Aesthetic of Karol G’s Carmen Miranda Reinvention in ‘Tropicoqueta’

A woman dressed in tropical hues with bongos fastened to her waist and coconuts forming the centerpiece of her ensemble moved across a screen with the self-assurance of someone who knows exactly how the internet will respond. Karol G, the Colombian reina who has reshaped the sound of Latin pop over the past decade, revealed the name of her fifth studio album through a brief Instagram video. Titled Tropicoqueta, the clip lasted under a minute but carried a clear aesthetic and intention. Latina artists have referenced Carmen Miranda before, but few moments have brought samba’s complicated history into focus through the lens of today’s streaming-era spectacle. However, what remains unseen is whether Karol G understands the weight of the culture she appears poised to reimagine.

Let’s not forget that Carmen Miranda never escaped the uneasy role she played in samba’s rise or the claims of aesthetic theft made by the communities where samba was born.

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The Glitter Wasn’t Always Sweet for Carmen Miranda

Carmen Miranda was born in northern Portugal in 1909 and moved to Brazil while still a child. Her voice and presence quickly earned her a place on Brazilian radio and later in its film industry where she became a sensation. In 1939 Broadway producer Lee Shubert persuaded her to join his production The Streets of Paris. With backing from the Brazilian government Miranda and her band arrived in New York not only as entertainers but as symbols of diplomacy under the United States’ Good Neighbor policy. She conquered stages and nightclubs and soon she became the highest-paid woman performer in the country.

It is key to know that the samba she performed was rooted hardship. Created by Afro-Brazilian communities who descended from enslaved Africans, samba emerged in the terreiros and homes of people who clung to culture as an act of resistance. Born in Bahia and shaped in Rio de Janeiro, samba was once criminalized. To play an instrument in the street was to risk arrest. People who danced were seen as vagrants. The rhythm that came from the circle with hands clapping and feet moving and utensils beating plates was considered an offense to the state. This was music crafted in favelas and sanctified by suffering.

As Miranda’s star rose in the United States her image became tightly managed and caricatured. She wore the fruit hat and sang to U.S.-based audiences who did not care to distinguish samba from rhumba. She accepted roles that exaggerated stereotypes. Her Hollywood career flourished. But when she returned to Brazil in 1940 she was booed offstage during a charity event she had organized. To many in her homeland she had abandoned them. She had become the symbol of something distorted and overly palatable.

Samba Carries a History of Silence and Survival for Afro-Latinos

The samba that Carmen Miranda brought to widespread attention did not emerge from glamour nor did it ever find full acceptance among Brazil’s elite. Its origins lie in resistance. Before enslavement, Black communities in Africa gathered to celebrate, and upon arriving in Brazil, they sought to preserve their cultural traditions. After the abolition of slavery in 1888, freed Afro-Brazilians increasingly settled in cities like Rio de Janeiro, carrying their music with them from Bahia to the hills surrounding the city.

In the early twentieth century Brazilian law viewed these gatherings as dangerous. Musicians risked jail time for simply holding instruments. But samba survived in hidden rooms and sacred spaces carried forward by pioneers like João da Baiana and Pixinguinha and Caninha. These were artists forced to play under threat who sought refuge in the homes of the tías bahianas. These matriarchs protected the culture. The first recognized samba “Pelo Telefone” was recorded in 1917 and attributed to Ernesto dos Santos also known as Donga though it was the product of collective creation.

Samba’s legitimacy grew with radio and cinema but its acceptance never untethered from the pain of erasure. When Miranda brought it to U.S. screens samba became international but often stripped of its origin. Afro-Brazilian voices remained in the background while the stylized representation became the exported version.

Karol G’s Tribute in ‘Tropicoqueta’ Risks Repeating History

Karol G’s announcement video for Tropicoqueta references Carmen Miranda explicitly. Gone are the traditional fruits and in their place are drums and coconuts. The aesthetic has been altered and made current. Tropical but percussive.

Yet, the image she channels is not neutral. It carries the burdens Miranda never managed to shed. It channels samba. A genre born of displacement and rooted in pain. Revived in joy. If Karol G draws inspiration from Miranda’s legacy she must be mindful of the foundation beneath it. The rhythms she echoes were born in terreiros. They were forbidden. They survived through repression. The people who created them are rarely the ones featured in celebratory videos.

Until Tropicoqueta is released and until we see whether Karol G’s album credits the Afro-Brazilian traditions it borrows from we cannot know if this is a tribute or another instance of history being flattened into aesthetics. Too often Afro-Latinos do not receive credit for the sounds they created and the traditions they fought to keep alive. The entertainment industry has made this omission its habit.

For now the color and spectacle signal a new era for Karol G. But celebration alone is not enough. The next step and the necessary one is to name the architects of the rhythm she now channels. Whether she will remains unanswered.